


Severed!

by carnagekiid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Blood, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Decapitation, Gore, M/M, Modern AU, Spirits, Supernatural - Freeform, Yaoi, ghost - Freeform, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3728323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnagekiid/pseuds/carnagekiid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan Braginsky is killed in a car crash. Now a restless soul, he haunts the one responsible, Gilbert Beilschmidt. The last thing he expected to do was develop a fondness for the cold blooded murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death

**Author's Note:**

> The idea just kind of came to me randomly and I had to turn it into a fanfic! Also, I drew up a couple character sketches which you can find on my tumblr (link in bio) I hope you guys enjoy this story and I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes or typos. I'm writing this on my phone and my autocorrect has a mind of its own. 
> 
> ***Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters
> 
> ***Warnings: Yaoi, Language, Blood, Gore, Decapitation, Car crashes, Alcohol, Drunk Driving, Ghosts, Spirits

Severed!

Chapter 1

Death is a peculiar subject. One that is both feared and welcomed. Each and every living organism is a prisoner to its overbearing presence, eventually falling victim to its execution. Sometimes it comes quietly, sneaking upon one in the depths of the night, only to leave as quickly as it came. Sometimes it's so sudden, no one knows what to make of it, it's loud, bright, and so, so unimaginable. It can be peaceful or painful. Accepted or dreaded. But one thing that most seem to agree on is that it is a mystery we will never understand until we experience it ourselves.

-

Ivan Braginsky was a simple man with simple priorities. He didn't give much thought to the subject of death. It didn't concern him at the time, so it didn't matter all that much. He was more focused on the road in front of him at the moment. It had been a long day at the university and he needed to get home to his sisters. He was already out far later than he should have been and they were probably worried. The sun had long since set, only the full moon and blinding headlights of his car illuminated the two way road before him. The Russian was beyond exhausted from his day at school and he could feel his eyelids getting heavier as he tried to see through the blinding rain. He still had about twenty minutes of driving so he could hold out a little longer. The moonlight was soon blocked by towering trees on the side of the lonely road. He was driving the barren highway between the small town he lived in and the city he studied at. It was a quick drive through the forest and the road was empty. You'd have to be insane to drive this road at the current time of night.

Ivan guessed that made him insane. Well, him and the car speedily heading the opposite direction as him. He saw the headlights emerge from an uphill slope. They other car was moving fairly quick, way over the speed limit. The Russian sighed to himself. Honestly, kids these days. He noticed how bright the headlights were, almost as if they were directly in front of him.

Wait...they were.

It took a moment for Ivan's sleep hazed mind to register the car was speeding towards him head on. The other lights moved back and forth as if the driver was swerving uncontrollably.

Shit.

The vehicle in front of him was inching closer in what seemed like slow motion. Ivan finally came to his senses and swerved to the right to avoid a collision. Unfortunately the road was slick from the rain, causing him to lose control of the car. Skidding off the road, Ivan somehow managed to hit a road sign. The large board flew off of its flimsy metal legs and lodged itself on the hood on the Russian's car. The sign containing the next exits and popular road stops looked a lot bigger in front of him than it did when driving past it, the metal board was almost larger than the hood of his car. Ivan didn't have time to think of that as his car flew over the ditch on the side of the road and was sent barreling towards a rather large tree. In a panic, the Russian attempted to slam on the brakes but hit the gas pedal in his unfocused state. The tree was approaching rapidly and Ivan threw his hands in front of his face as a last minute effort to shield himself from the collision. He didn't even feel the car crash, however, he did see the road sigh plunge through the windshield just before everything went black.

-

Gilbert Beilschmidt was a complex man. And his priorities were far from simple. However, his biggest concern at the moment was finding the nearest exit of the crowded bar. He, Antonio, and Francis had thought it would be a good idea to visit a bar in the next town over for a little bit of fun. Things had quickly spiraled out of control and the three were drunk out of their minds.

Alright Gil, he thought to himself. Just get yer keys and get the hell outta here.

A rather burley man had began to flirt with him and to be honest, it made him beyond uncomfortable. The man was getting a bit too touchy with him and his breath reeked of more alcohol than Gilbert's. After escaping the man's disgusting clutches, the albino veered towards the exit, completely forgetting about his friends. Oh well, they'll mange.

Climbing into his black Chevy Silverado in an anything but graceful matter, Gilbert started his truck and sped down the road.

The German managed to make it to the main road with no issues, but his vision started to get foggy as he entered the path through the forest. Gilbert saw the bright headlights of another car slowly approaching. Wait, was it one car or two? Or maybe it was three? One thing he knew for sure, was that there were a lot of lights heading his way. Gilbert could barely keep his own car going straight in his alcohol endorsed state, how was he supposed to avoid all the weird lights?

Suddenly, the lights were gone. He felt his heart drop to his stomach after hearing the sound of screeching tires and a loud crash. Carefully he pulled his car to the side of the road, stepped out, and stumbled to the clearing caused by the out of control vehicle. His vision was still hazy as he followed the fresh tire marks into the woods.

The sinking feeling in his chest got heavier as he saw the complete wreckage of the other car. They type of vehicle was unidentifiable due to how destroyed it was. Holding his breath, Gilbert cautiously trudged to the driver's side of the car.

He felt the bile rise in his throat at the site. Illuminated in the pale moonlight, was the headless body of the deceased driver. Oh god, there was blood everywhere. There was so much blood. The German could see the crumpled remains of a road sign in the back seat of the car. Hesitantly, the albino shifted his scarlet gaze down to the the severed head of the driver resting in his own lifeless lap.

That was it. Gilbert was done. He turned and ran back to the road, tripping over the shrubbery of the untamed forest. He didn't look back as he jumped into his truck and sped down the road.

He had killed someone. He had just murdered someone who had a job, a life, a family. He didn't have any of those things, but he had just taken them away from an innocent victim. The rest of the drive back to his apartment in the city was spent in his own pitiful silence. He didn't even notice the tears cascading down his cheeks. He couldn't stop himself from choking on his own breath. The road was even blurrier than before. No matter what he tried to think about, the only memory consuming his thoughts were the lifeless body of he driver. The way the blood pooled from the stump of his neck and how mangled the car had been. The image would not go away. After a shitty parking job outside the apartment complex, Gilbert sped to his room, completely ignoring the doorman. He bounded up the metal stairs and into his apartment where he stumbled to the bathroom and promptly vomited his breakfast, lunch, and dinner into the toilet. The exhaustion from the day overcame him and the German collapsed in a pitiful heap, surrounded by his own tears and vomit. The bathroom began to get blurry before fading to black as he slipped into unconsciousness.

-

"Ivan..." Was someone... calling his name?

"Ivan..." No... the Russian didn't want to get up yet.

"Ivan!" The voice snapped at the Slavic man, waking him from his trance. He sat up slowly and looked around. He was in a small clearing of a forest. The sun was covered by mid day clouds and the Russian could see the wind slightly rustling the trees and grass around him. How strange, he didn't feel cold at all.

How did he even get here? The last thing he remembered was driving home from school, then there was that other car, then-

"Shit!" Ivan pushed himself from his spot on the ground, only to feel a pair of strong hands push him back down.

"Woah... not too fast there big boy." The same voice from before echoed in his ear. It sounded as if it were coming from every direction at once, almost as if multiple people were speaking the same words in perfect unison. Ivan raised his violet gaze and was met with an unimaginable sight.

In front of him stood a man. Well, more of a boy. He couldn't have been older than twenty. He had short blond hair sticking out at odd angles. His eyes were big, blue and bright, they were framed by square glasses. They looked so alive compared to his...almost dead looking complexion. He was wearing a black v-neck and black skinny jeans bordered by heavy combat boots. Over his shirt, he wore a leather bomber jacket with a black fur color. The peculiar thing about the jacket however was it was more like a cloak, it went down to about his knees before sectioning off in tears and rips. Then it just...faded. He was holding a rather intimidating large, black as night scythe in his right hand. But the thing that really caught his attention, was the gaping bullet wound in his chest. It was right over the heart, Ivan could see straight through it, and wisps of blood pooled out before dissolving into thin air.

Something was not right.

"Wh-who are you?" Ivan asked hesitantly.

The figure laughed, a bubbly laugh that echoed in his ears. "I am Alfred F. Jones. Or better know as," he paused for dramatic effect. "The Collector of Souls."

"I'm sorry...?"

Alfred sighed. Seriously he had planned out that whole introduction and it was wasted on another clueless soul.

"I hate to have to be the one to tell you this," Alfred said. "But you're dead."

Ivan laughed. "Um I don't know who you are, but comrade, that is surely a lie. I think I'm just dreaming right now." The Russian said, unsure of his own words.

"I beg to differ," Alfred said nonchalantly as he gestured to his left. Ivan followed his movements, his eyes landed upon the horrible wreckage of his car. He was about fifty yards away but could see the blood staining the twisted skeleton of the vehicle. Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground and stumbled towards the crash on unstable feet. When he approached the mangled vehicle he shot Alfred a questioning glance before peering through the passengers seat window. The sight made him stumble back a few feet. He had to catch his breath before regaining the the courage to step up to the car again. In the drivers seat sat his headless body. Wearing the same tan jacket and dark blue jeans he was currently clad in. It was pathetic really, his severed head was resting in his own lap. And his fingers...were missing? How the hell did that happen? He looked back to the bloody stump that was once his neck. The arteries and bone had been severed in what looked to be one clean cut. The disfigured road sign responsible was resting in the back seat with an impressive amount of blood staining its green surface. He saw one of his fingers resting on the dash board and reached out to grab it. He stopped mid reach when he saw the state of his hand. The hand itself was intact but his severed fingered were floating lazily near their original tendons.

"Alfred!" He called in shock, spinning back to the unfazed boy.

"Oh you haven't seen the best of it," he jeered. In a graceful sweeping motion, the boy swung the scythe in front of him before tracing a circle in mid air with the tip of the blade. The shape glowed blue for a moment before fading to reveal a large mirror. Ivan gaped at the presentation as he stepped towards the reflective surface. The sight was almost as gruesome as the wreck itself. Ivan's reflection showed his severed head floating mere inches above the bloody stump of his neck. Besides the blood staining his neck, face, and jacket, there were wisps of the liquid pooling from his wounds. The scarlet blood floated into the air before disappearing, much like Alfred's injury.

"I-" the Russian couldn't form the words he wanted to say so badly. But then again, what could he say? He was dead. And his headless body was less that twenty yards away as proof. Ivan lifted a hand in front of his face, watching as the fingers trailed lazily behind before floating back into place.

Alfred figured that was enough and went to dispel the mirror. Swinging the scythe, he hit the glass dead on. To his dismay, instead of disappearing, the mirror cracked before shattering into pieces and falling to the ground.

"Damnit..." Alfred sighed. "I'm still not used to this thing." He then proceeded to smash he remaining pieces with the end of his blade. The shattered glass glowed a light blue before disappearing.

"I don't understand," Ivan said softly, staring at his fingers in awe.

"You're dead." Alfred answered. "Nothing more to it. Unfortunately, because your death was so sudden, there's something tying you to this world, making it impossible for me to take your souls until you get your shit together."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The Russian questioned him.

"It means you have unfinished business in this world. Whether it be a confession to someone you admire, a final goodbye to your lover," Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Vengeance on the one responsible for your death."

"Vengeance..." Ivan repeated to himself. "Alfred." He said sternly, peaking the boy's interest. "I want to know exactly how I died and who is responsible."

This made Alfred grin to himself. His job was beginning to become boring and this was just the kind of change he needed.

"Well, I'll skip the previews and get right to the main showing." Alfred grinned to himself as he casted another circle with his scythe. This one was slightly smaller than the mirror and instead of a reflective surface, the levitating orb showed a video. It was a sickly familiar image and Ivan watched in horror as the scene of his death was played out before him. He forced himself not to look away as his car was run off the road by the drunk driver's burly truck. The once blurry haze became clear as he watch his car slam into the a tree, sending the road sign through the windshield. He lifted his hands in a pathetic attempt to shield himself, but it didn't stop the metal slab from slicing through the bone of both his fingers and neck. It happened so fast his severed head didn't have any where else to fall besides his lifeless lap.

To his surprise the video kept rolling, he was staring at his deceased body, wondering when it would end, just as another figure entered the frame. Ivan leaned in to see the obviously drunk and panicked man inspect the crash. He looked to be the same age as Ivan, the way the moonlight illuminated his pale hair and scarlet eyes gave the whole scene an eerie vibe. Ivan watched with growing rage as the man promptly fled the scene. And just like that, he was gone. What a fucking jackass.

"Alfred," Ivan turned to the ghost as the image disappeared. "by any chance, do you know who that man is?"

"Well, Ivan," Alfred's smile was dark, mischievous. "I do, I do." He whipped the blade of the scythe towards himself, cleaning the edge with the hem of his tattered coat.

"That man is Gilbert Beilschmidt."


	2. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is originally on my fanfiction. Hopefully I'll stick to a 1-2 week update schedule. Apologies in advance for spelling/grammar errors! Thanks to everyone who had left a review so far, enjoy!
> 
> ***Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters
> 
> ***Warnings: Spirits, Supernatural, Blood, Gore, Decapitation, Ghosts, Language

Chapter 2

"Gilbert!" The sound of someone calling his name was followed by three quick knocks to the bathroom door.

"Gilbert! Are you in there? I need to use the bathroom," the voice of his roommate woke the German from his slumber. Peeling his face off the floor, he was disgusted to find a fair amount of vomit stuck to the side of his face and smeared in his hair. The awful sight and rancid smell almost made him puke again.

"Sorry, Carter," he apologized through the door. "I'm sick, so you don't really wanna see what's going on in here."

"Sick," Carter repeated. "Please, you've just got a hangover bigger than your ego. I'll just use the bathroom at work." Gilbert sighed in relief as footsteps echoed down the hallway before he heard the front door open then shut.

Carter had been his roommate for the past six months or so. The apartment originally belonged to Gilbert, but paying rent was beginning to become troublesome. He had basically been living off his parents inheritance for the past couple of years, but that wouldn't last him forever. Having someone to split the cost of rent with definitely made things easier. He didn't really mind Carter all that much, but there were certain things that bothered him about the man. For instance, he worked all day, leaving early in the morning and arriving back home late at night. Gilbert didn't complain, because he got the apartment to himself the whole day, but Carter would always dance around the subject or work when Gilbert asked. The German had learned to look past it. But every once in a while, his stomach would knot and he would feel very uncomfortable when Carter was around. He was much bigger and stronger than Gilbert and was known to be a nasty drunk.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he slowly sat up into a sitting position. God, what the hell even happened last night? He figured it would come back to him eventually. Shakily, he stood to his feet and removed his bile stained clothing. Turning the shower on, he waited for the water to heat up before stepping inside. He stood motionless as the scolding water cascaded down his back and face, washing the vomit down the drain. Soon the bathroom was filled with steam and the smell of scented shampoos. After washing the last bit of puke from his hair, Gilbert let the rushing water from the shower wash his hangover away. However, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something important.

The steady stream of water from the shower head continued to pour down in thick red drops. Wait, red? Gilbert jolted upright as the metallic taste of blood entered his mouth. The blood began to rain down harder, filling the bathtub he was standing in, clogging his nose and mouth, leaking from his eyes and ears. The German let out a strangled scream and fell to his knees. The second his legs made contact with the floor of the bathtub, the scenery around him changed. He was no longer in the tile bathroom, but the clearing of a small forest. The sun was just setting and a slight breeze rustled the trees around him. The small patch of grass in front of him was disrupted by screeching tire marks. His scarlet gaze followed the tracks to see the twisted skeleton of a sickly familiar car crumpled against a tree. Standing on unsteady feet, Gilbert trudged to the scene to see the same sight he thought he'd forgotten. Once he saw the decapitated body of the driver, the events from the night before came rushing back, crashing down upon him like a tsunami. Stumbling back in horror, he slipped on the wet grass and was sent toppling backwards. His back made contact with the tile wall of his shower, sending his neatly organized shampoos and body wash scattering across the floor of the bathtub. The scene faded back to the bleak tile of his bathroom. Gilbert collapsed in a pitiful heap in the bathtub and sobbed like a child.

The water soon ran cold as his cries of agony faded into dry heaves.

-

Death was a different experience. Certainly unlike anything Ivan had ever experienced in his 24 years of life. Then again, he wasn't alive anymore. The worst thing about being dead was that he couldn't interact with anyone, or anything for that matter. Alfred had taken the time to get explain everything to him. As a ghost he couldn't touch things from the living world, he could only observe. It takes either a strong emotional attachment or a hell of a lot of willpower to interact with someone or something. Contrary to popular belief, ghost and spirits can not move things at will like in over exaggerated Hollywood movies. It's like lifting weights, you have to conjure your strength, and it only lasts for a limited amount of time. Sure he could slam doors and push nicknacks off shelves, but it would be a pointless waste of time and energy. Ivan needed to conserve his strength for something far greater than frivolous antics.

"Shall we be off now?" The echoing voice of Alfred interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes," Ivan answered sternly. He was beyond ready to face this 'Gilbert' figure. He had a bone to pick with the man who murdered him. Maybe murder was a strong word, but still, the albino was responsible for his death and had the nerve to leave his lifeless corpse to rot. If that wasn't a cold blooded killer, Ivan didn't know what was.

The Russian watched in wonder as Alfred swung his scythe in an arching motion. A light blue mist appeared in the weapons trail before slowly cascading towards the earth, leaving a glowing door in its wake. The double door entrance was bigger than he and Alfred combined. It looked to be wooden under the faint glowing light of the ghost's magic, and had large metal handles. Ivan watched as the blond grabbed one of the handles, he motioned for the Russian to take the other. On Alfred's count, they pulled the doors apart to reveal a swirling portal of all different colors. Ivan didn't even have time to ogle before the other boy pushed him inside.

He was overcome with a rushing sense of adrenalin before the chaos of color split to reveal a crowded city street. The ground was suddenly approaching rapidly and Ivan landed with a soft 'oof'. One of the upsides to being dead was he didn't feel any pain, there was only a slight pressure where he had hit the cement. Alfred followed closely behind, landing somewhat gracefully beside him.

Ivan stood shakily before realizing they had just seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a crowded city street.

"Before you freak out," Alfred said causally, "no one can see us."

Ivan sighed in relief. He looked to his left and right to see the oblivious faces of so many pass by him. To think they were all alive and he wasn't...it was amazing. They didn't even realize how quickly their lives could be torn away from them. Some were young, others old, yet none truly knew how or when they would die. Ivan wondered how it didn't shock them, but then he realized the thoughts had never really crossed his mind when he was alive. The ghost stepped in front of a man in a sleek business suit. He passed through the Russian as if he wasn't even there, yet the contact made them both shudder. However, the man must have suspected it was only a breeze, for he continued on his way, never looking back.

"Don't do that," Alfred scolded. "That's weird."

Ivan ignored him. "Where to now?" He asked.

Alfred led the way, crossing the street and passing through an ally way. Ivan followed in tow, wondering how far they would have to travel to reach their destination.

"Damnit'" Alfred cursed. "This stupid oversized knife never does anything correctly." He hit the blade of the scythe with he fist a couple times as he walked. "It can't even drop us off in the right location."

Ivan just shot the boy a sideways glance and continued to follow him.

Soon, they arrived outside of a modern looking apartment complex. Wasting no time, Alfred hurried up the metal stairs, took a left, and stopped outside of apartment 22B.

"There you have it," the blond gestured to the door. "Your man's right on the other side of that door."

Ivan stepped in front of the door and slowly reached for the doorknob. He gasped when his hand passed right through the metal.

"Have you learned nothing?" Alfred sighed. In one swift motion, he pushed Ivan through the door. Literally through it. The Russian's vision became momentarily blurry as he passed through the solid object, but cleared up once he landed on the other side of the door. Alfred passed through behind him and helped him to his feet. Looking around, Ivan took in their surrounding. They were inside the living room of a modern apartment, in front of them was an off white couch, mahogany coffee table, and flat screen tv. There was a decently sized kitchen at the back of the room and a hallway that led to the right. On the left were two doors.

Suddenly, one of them opened and a pale figure stumbled onto the hardwood of of the hallway. He was wearing plaid boxers and a plain white undershirt. He landed on his hands and knees, panting uncontrollably. Ivan recognized him as the man responsible for his death. An uncontrollable amount of rage overcame him, he clenched his fist and began to grind his teeth in order to control the chaotic emotions swirling inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to jump the albino and beat the living shit out of him. Alfred noticed how Ivan's translucent figure began to take a slightly solid shape. He smirked to himself as the bathroom door slammed shut with a bang behind the disheveled German who gasped and swung his head towards the entrance of the apartment. The situation took a pleasantly amusing turn when Gilbert's eyes just about popped out of head. His scarlet gaze swept over Ivan's manifesting physique, registering the fact that the man he had beheaded was standing in his hallway. Well, the ghost of the man, for a sudden exhaustion overcame the Russian and he collapsed to the floor, falling to his knees much like the man in front of him. To Gilbert's human eyes, it was if he had blinked out of existence. The German let out a horrified scream and bolted upright, he flounced down the hallway, tripping over his own unsteady feet as he went. Alfred heard the telltale slam of a bedroom door and assumed Gilbert had decided to turn in for the night. And by turn in, he meant hide under his covers and quiver like a child.

"What w-was that?" Alfred's attention was drawn back to the Russian heap before him.

"That," the boy began to explained. "Is what happens when you let your emotions get the better of you." He said nonchalantly.

"But I thought we can't interact with the living unless it's a strong emotional attachment." Ivan stated, still in slight shock from the evenings events.

"Ya, strong emotional attachment," Alfred said, hoping the clueless Russian would catch on. "As in 'responsible for your death'. You know anger, vengeance, hatred, those are emotions as well. It's not always a happy story where a deceased soul is reunited with their still living lover."

"If that's so, then why can't he see me all the time?"

"Unfortunately," Alfred continued, getting tired of having to explain everything in excruciating detail. "You haven't harnessed your 'ghost powers' yet," he said sarcastically. "When it comes to emotional attachment, you can make yourself seem to them or not. Depending on what you're feeling. You're soul is tied to this 'Gilbert' figure, therefore you will be strongest when near him and have the most control over you powers. However, letting your emotions take over can result in disaster if you were to lose control. The best warning I can give to you is 'be careful'."

"What happens if I'm not near him?" Ivan asked, trying to take in all the foreign, yet exciting, information.

"Nothing much, you won't have any influence on things from the living world. Even if you put all of your strength into it. You could start to feel very sick. It's not usual, but I've seen it in a couple cases." Alfred passed by the recovering Russian and began to stroll down the hallway. "Also if emotions are running high enough, you'll be able to physically touch Gilbert." This peaked Ivan's interest as he stood from his spot on the floor and began to follow the other ghost down the hallway. "When the time comes, don't hurt him too bad." Alfred snickered to himself.

The image of smashing Gilbert's face into a brick wall was an appealing picture in the Russians vivid imagination. "How long will that be?" Ivan asked.

"Sorry bud, can't say for sure." Alfred stopped outside of what Ivan assumed to be Gilbert's bedroom door. "What I can tell you though, is how to make this guy's life a living hell for the time being."

The American grinned, he was breaking a couple rules, but then again he was never one to go by the book in the first place. Damn, his boss would have his ass if he found out what he was doing. His job was to collect souls, and help those stuck in limbo move on. Sure, he was supposed to do things a certain way, but if the results are the same in the end, what's wrong with having a little fun on the way? With one last look to Ivan, Alfred pushed the door open and gestured for the other ghost to enter.

-

Gilbert had barricaded himself in his room. Shivering beneath the covers like a child afraid of the dark. But who could blame him? He had just seen the ghost of a man he had practically murdered standing in his living room. Not to mention the door to his bathroom had slammed shut with enough force to crack the paint.

Suddenly, a quiet creaking noise echoed throughout the bedroom. Oh no. No, no, no. Gilbert had seen this way too many times in those cheesy horror flics he liked to watch. Sure they were stupid on screen, but experiencing it in the flesh and blood was a whole different feeling. It was a feeling Gilbert didn't like. The German knew it was a stupid move, but his curiosity got the better of him and he slowly lifted his head from protective layers of his covers.

Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but kept a wary eye on the bedroom door as it languidly drifted on its hinges before gently bumping against the wall. He let out an extrinsic shriek as the door abruptly slammed shut. And the covers were torn from his figure, dancing slightly in the air before dropping to the floor.

"Oh my god! I- fuck-" the German couldn't even think straight as he stumbled out of the bed, landing on the floor as he tripped over one of his discarded pillows. The air around him suddenly became very cold. Gilbert repositioned himself into a sitting position, he could almost feel the breath of another on is neck as he kept his eyes glued to the carpet floor. Not daring to make a sound, he cautiously slid backwards until his back touched his bedside table. Swallowing the dry lump that had manifested in his throat, the albino shifted his scarlet gaze upwards until he was staring at the blank space in front of him. Except it wasn't exactly blank. Above him, the figure of a man blinked in and out of focus. Gilbert recognized the beige-blond hair, matted with blood. The tan jacket, dark blue jeans and black combat boots, all stained a sickly crimson. What wasn't familiar, however, was the way his severed head floated mere inches above the stump of his neck. He didn't remember the blood that pooled out in large wisps before dissolving into thin air. He certainly had no recollection of bisected fingered floating near their tendons, much like his head. But the German didn't think he would ever forget the man's piercing violet gaze that almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the bedroom. Forever, he would remember the look of pure hatred that corrupted the man's bloody features.

The figure disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving Gilbert in a terrified heap on the floor. Shakily, he leaned forward and got up on his hands and knees. Too scared to stand, he crawled to the foot of the bed where his covers were laying in an abandoned pile. Finally gaining the courage to rise to his feet, he grabbed the blankets in a shaking hand. He looked to the closed door before tossing the covers onto the bare mattress. He could have just been imagining things...right? Maybe he just needs some food. He hadn't eaten since yesterday and he had puked most of that up anyway. After making his bed, the German inspected his room to make sure everything was in it's place before heading towards the kitchen.

-

Ivan stood over the quivering German, letting his rage boil over the surface. He was about to reach out for him when he suddenly felt very faint. He stumbled back slightly until he bumped into Alfred, who had moved from the door frame to the foot of the bed.

He watched as Gilbert crawled past him and Alfred.

"Come on," Alfred's voice echoed throughout the small room. "We've gotta hit him one more time." The American was more excited about the turn of events than Ivan was. Maybe it was because he hadn't experienced this kind of joy since the 1930's.

Ivan followed numbly, looking back at the German as Alfred drifted through the closed door. Suddenly, Gilbert looked back. It was if he was staring directly at the Russian. The ghost stared back blankly, observing the way the man's scarlet orbs were dilated with fear. He quickly turned away and went about remaking the queen sized bed. Ivan just turned and glided through the door, still not used to the feeling of passing through a solid object. He joined Alfred in the living room. Ivan wasn't going to lie, he was a bit freaked out by the boy's giddiness. It was almost as if he was plotting something sinister, the way he rubbed his hands together eagerly and how he would try to stop himself from smirking but lost to the shit-eating grin that corrupted his normally soft features.

"What are you planning now?" Ivan asked, still a little winded from earlier.

"Oh just a traditional ghostly greeting." The Russian didn't like the sound of that. He was about to protest when Gilbert entered the living room. The albino walked slowly and kept checking behind his shoulder as if he expected someone to be behind him. Alfred laughed that sui generis bubbly chuckle before raising his scythe. The TV on the back wall of the room flickered static before turning on. Ivan observed the local news channel and was shocked to see a birds eye view of the scene of his death. The helicopter circled around the crash, showing a bundle of police cars and a large blue tarp covering the wreck. The feminine voice of a pretty news reporter filled the space, it was almost as if she was there standing in the room rather than on screen.

"The driver has yet to be identified, but it appears he was decapitated by a road sign that crashed through his windshield..."

The voice drifted around the room and Gilbert made a break for the remote. Throwing himself over the side of the couch, he extended his arm in hopes of changing the channel. He caught hold of the small device and hit the power button. Alfred laughed from behind him as the German's efforts to turn off the TV were in vain. The albino began to panic and frantically pressed any buttons he could get his fingers on.

"The local police force is still unsure if the whole crash was a freak accident, or if the driver was run off the road..."

Ivan watched with growing amusement as Gilbert scrambled to the tv and reached around the back, pulling the plug. He grunted in frustration as the TV only got louder. He stumbled back from the screen, at a loss of what to do.

"And here's the kicker," Alfred said slowly, almost sounding psychotic. He smashed the butt of the raised scythe onto the hardwood floor with a bang. The second the weapon made contact with the floor, all the lights in the apartment simultaneously burned out. Leaving the room glowing dimly in the pale light from a cloudy morning outside. Gilbert had shrieked when the lights went out and was reduced to a shaking mess, hiding under the coffee table. Alfred, however, was laughing like a maniac. He walked over to the table sheltering the albino and hit it roughly with the end of his scythe, causing another whimper from the German underneath.

"Oh man," Alfred sighed once his laughs had subsided. "That has gotta be the best reaction I've seen in decades." Ivan just nodded numbly, still not sure of exactly what had just happened. He walked over to the mahogany table and peered under it, watching the way Gilbert closed his eyes and whispered little 'it's ok's' to himself. In all honestly, the Russian ghost didn't really blame the German for being so frightened. He had just seen the man he had basically murdered standing in his bedroom. It was just like one of those cheesy horror flics he used to watch with his sisters. However, Ivan couldn't help but feel like giving the scares was much better than being on the receiving end of them.

"Well that's all I've got for today, buddy." Alfred said nonchalantly as he walked towards the door. The lights in the apartment flickered a few times before turning back on.

"W-wait!" The Russian called after him. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We?" Alfred asked accusingly. "Do you know how many people die a day? I'm already behind schedule. I've got places to be, people to kill," he turned back to Ivan with a mischievous smirk. "Souls to collect." Ivan just teetered awkwardly on his feet. "Sorry, bud, but for now you're on your own. I'll check in on ya every once in a while." He walked through the front door, but his voice still lingered in the room, echoing in Ivan's mind. "Try not to hurt the boy too bad." And with that, any and all traces of Alfred disappeared.

Ivan looked back to Gilbert who was just gaining the courage to peak out from under the coffee table. What the hell was he supposed to do now? The Russian had the feeling this was whole experience was going to take a toll on him. For now, he would observe. Wait and watch. He would get to know each and everyone of Gilbert's strengths and weaknesses, only to use them against him in the end. He took a seat on the couch and watched as Gilbert cautiously stood to his feet, he stumbled to the couch where he unknowing seated himself next to the Ivan's ghost. Apparently he could sit on solid objects such as couches and chairs, but wasn't strong enough to open a measly door yet. The Russian almost laughed at the irony, but he just folded his hands in his lap and got as comfortable as a decapitated ghost could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am having so much fun with this story :D I already have almost the whole thing story boarded! Next chapter will hopefully be out sometime next week!
> 
> \- Caramel_Buns


	3. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well eyoooo I'm not dead. Well at least not yet. I'm really sorry it's been months since I've updated. I could sit hear and bullshit excuses but in reality I've been going through a really shitty time in my life and it's been hard to find the motivation/time to write. I've only got a couple more weeks of school left so I should have more free time to write in the summer. Thanks for sticking with me guys and I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Apologies in advance for spelling/grammar errors.   
> ***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters   
> ***Warnings: Language, Blood, Gore, Decapitation, Spirits, Ghosts, My horrid attempts at writing jump scares

Ivan leaned back against the couch, enjoying the silence that filled the small space. He glanced to the side to see Gilbert rubbing his face slowly. They had been sitting on the couch for about two hours. Ivan didn't mind the lack of action, for he was tying to gain a better understanding of the living being beside him. 

Gilbert, on the other hand, was beginning to think staging a lookout for a ghost was getting tiresome. He hadn't gotten the best nights sleep and the events of the morning kept him on edge. Now all of the lost rest had finally caught up with him. His mental and physical state had finally reached its limit as he lazily swayed to the side before sprawling himself across the couch. His head hit something soft, yet cool. Strange, he didn't remember placing a pillow there. He thought nothing of it in his sleep ridden state and slowly drifted into unconsciousness. 

Ivan nearly jumped out of his dead skin when Gilbert's head fell lightly onto his lap. He panicked for a few moments before he heard a soft snored emitting from the boy, indicated he had fallen asleep. Oh my god. His murder just fell asleep in his lap. Ivan started to think up all the morbid tricks he could play on the pour soul at the moment. But he stopped when he saw the albino's sleeping face. He looked so peaceful. The ghost had only seen the boy terrified, as he tried to either cope with what he'd done or hide from Ivan's torment. The deceased Russian then thought to as why Gilbert could even touch him. He should have passed right through him, like the man on the street. 

"...if emotions are running high enough, you'll be able to physically touch Gilbert."

Alfred's echoing voice rang in his head as it all came together. The image of Gilbert's peaceful sleeping face was replaced by a ragged looking drunk stumbling away from his decapitated body. He could almost feel the rage burning in his soul. Oh how he wanted nothing but to push the god forsaken criminal out the second story window. Ivan reached down, ready to shove the German from his lap. He stopped when the pads of his severed fingers ghosted across the silvery surface of Gilbert's hair. He couldn't feel much of anything after his demise, but somehow he was able to feel how incredibly soft the man's hair was. Suddenly, Gilbert's head dropped through the transparent surface of Ivan's lap and hit the couch with a soft thud, jolting him awake. With a small gasp the albino shot into a sitting position and frantically scanned his surroundings. 

Ivan was just as sunned. He thought back to Alfred's explanation to see if he could piece anything together. His best guess was his 'emotions' ran lower once he became distracted. That must have caused them to lose the connection, leaving Ivan unable to touch Gilbert. Therefore the boy's head had nowhere else to go besides through the ghost. The Russian stared intently at the back of Gilbert's head. If looks could kill, the German would be a dead man. The mop of silver whipped around once again, however, the ghost did not expect to be greeted with a blood curling scream as Gilbert scramble backwards and fell over the side of the couch. Ivan watched in amusement as the German landed in a crumpled heap on the carpeted floor. The ghost leaned over the side of the couch, resting his chin in one of his hands, drumming his severed fingers against his cheek in an almost childlike manner. He was met with piercing scarlet orbs, dilated with fear.

A shaky voice drifted towards him as Gilbert spoke, trying to make sense of the situation. "G-ghost-"

"Boo."

The scream that followed was two octaves too high for Ivan. He cringed at the high pitched sound, watching through squinted eyes as the albino blundered to his feet, only to trip on the edge of the carpet and land on the hard wood floor with an audible 'oof'. 

"You can see me, yes?" Ivan asked as he lifted himself from the couch, walking towards Gilbert in a slow yet controlled idiosyncrasy. Gilbert nodded quickly, sliding backwards as the ghost approached him.

"Did you see me the night you killed me?" The Russian ghost stood a towering 182 centimeters over the German. Gilbert's body became numb, his limbs shaking like colorless leaves as he stared up at the monster before him. He watched in horror as blood pooled from the figure's neck and fingers, wafting through the air before disappearing. 

"I-" what the hell was he supposed to say in a situation like his? "L-look man, I was really drunk and-"

"Do you think that is an acceptable excuse?" The Russian's baritone voice shook Gilbert to the very core. 

"No, I-" 

"I had a family! I was going to graduate college, and make a life for myself!" Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over the waterline. Ivan didn't know why he was getting emotional in such an odd state. It was as if the grief of everything he had left behind finally crashed down upon him, crushing him like a ton of bricks. "I-I had sisters! They needed me! I promised I would be there for them, I promised I would protect them, I-" he stopped. The tears finally fell, cascading down his cheeks in heavy drops before evaporating into thin air. A few tears escaped the barrier between the living and spiritual realm. The fell in what seemed like slow motion before landing on the porcelain surface of Gilbert's face. He reached up with a trembling hand to wipe them away. He thought this had been a dream, but the tears felt so real. So alive. 

The ghost dropped to his knees in front of Gilbert and buried his face in his hands. The albino was at an absolute loss of what to do. He obviously wasn't the best person, he had made some stupid mistakes in his life. In return he had been hurt by too many people to find much happiness invested in others. But deep in that twisted soul of his, he felt a sliver of compassion. He pitied the man in front of him. His life had been ended far too short at the German's own hands. Hesitantly, he reached out. Ivan's pale blond locks shifted gently in the light breeze that always seemed to follow him. Gilbert reached out with unsteady hands, sifting his fingers through the mass of beige-blond hair. It felt cool against his hot skin. It was an almost refreshing feeling, like running your hand through icy water on a blistering summer afternoon. But there was a dark sense to it as well. Gilbert was not supposed to be there. He could feel it in his bones. The feeling of dread was thick like poison in his veins. He was crossing a nearly impalpable line between the living and the dead. A line that was not meant to exist in the first place. He was surprised when the ghost leaned into his touch, almost as if he was seeking comfort in the hand that was responsible for his death. There was no audible sound, but Gilbert could tell he was crying by the way his shoulders trembled. 

"Stop crying." He demanded. 

The Russian ceased his shaking but refused to look up.

"You're supposed to be scaring me," Gilbert said softly. "Not making me pity you."

This caught Ivan's attention as he slowly lifted his self from his pathetic position. His severed head was slower than the rest of his body, Gilbert watched in awe as it lazily floated back into place. 

"I do not want your pity." Ivan's voice was deep, his once friendly violet eyes were clouded with distress and a darkness the German couldn't fully understand. Gilbert began to panic slightly, he could see the ghost starting to get irritated. The last thing he wanted was the situation to exacerbate by his choice of words. 

"Listen, let's just uh....talk this out?" The albino said doubtfully as he stood, no where near the Russian's height. 

"And why would I want to speak with a criminal like you?" His sonorous voice was steady and slow, almost dangerous sounding. The anger that courses through his corpse was slowly building. Did this- this murder expect him to 'sit and talk' like juvenile girls at a slumber party? 

"Hold on," Gilbert stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. "Technically I'm not a criminal because I didn't actually murder you so-"

"Vehicular man slaughter." Ivan interrupted. 

"Involuntary manslaughter." Gilbert corrected. 

"That doesn't change the fact that you were both speeding and driving under the influence. Not to mention you left my decapitated corpse to rot, which can also be interpreted at negligent homicide!" The ghost took a few steps forward and the German soon found himself backed against a wall. 

"What are you a fucking cop?" Gilbert asked, a bit of his old fire returning. 

"Studying to become a lawyer actually." Ivan answered calmly. 

"Wow, you're pretty smart then, huh?" Gilbert momentarily forgot he was speaking with a ghost. 

"No, not yet. I have much more studying to do. I'm not even in an actually law school yet." Ivan's malice was almost nonexistent as he rambled on about his passion. He then stared down to his hands, watching as the blood pooled from the split tendons of his fingers. "Well, I guess I'll never make it to law school now." He wasn't upset anymore. He was just sad. Everything he had worked so hard to achieve was ripped out from beneath him, leaving nothing to cushion the fall. And the worst part was he couldn't even move on, he was forever stuck in a state of limbo. 

Gilbert felt an overwhelming sense of guilt hit him like a truck. Once he had graduated high school, he didn't even think about attending any sort of college. It wasn't that he struggled, he was just happy to get away from any type of work. 

"Will you tell me more about yourself?" Gilbert didn't know why he asked such a preposterous question. But somehow it just felt right to engage in a civilized conversation with a ghost. 

The question caught Ivan off guard. He struggled to find the right way to respond to the ridiculous proposer. He figured it wouldn't do any harm. "Sure," he said slowly. 

Gilbert sighed in relief, happy the ghost had finally calmed down. "Great," he said. "You know what, let's get out of this stuffy apartment." 

-

The air outside was cool. It gave Gilbert an invigorating feeling. He and Ivan bounded down the metal stairs of the apartment complex and set out into the crowded city street. The German briefly wondered if he would be able to lose the troublesome ghost in the crowd. The thought, however, dissipated as soon as it had materialized due to how closely Ivan was following him. It was a pointless theory, taking into consideration that the decapitated ghost had found his abode once and would most likely be able to do it again. 

Gilbert picked up the pace and looked over his shoulder to see if Ivan could keep up. He stopped, slack jawed, as he watch the ghost walk through the people in his way. Literally through them. 

"What the hell...." He whispered to himself. He waited until Ivan stopped in front of him, questioning why they had stopped moving forward. The German ignored the ghost's confused look as he shot his hand out. It was met with the solid surface of the Russian's chest. 

"I don't understand," Gilbert said, more to himself than Ivan. He withdrew his hand, looking at it, before touching the male's chest once again. This time he kept it there, it felt as if the chilled aura that encompassed the ghost was spreading to him as well. His whole arm became cool before it was replaced by a warm tingling sensation. 

"I don't either." Ivan said quietly. Gilbert noticed that people were staring to give him bizarre looks. It probably looked odd to see a man standing in the middle of the street, hand outstretched, talking to no one. 

"Come on," he said, turning away from the ghost. As soon as his hand left the ghost's chest, the feeling of warmth was replaced by the cool autumn breeze. 

"Hey Gilbert," Ivan's voice echoed from behind him. Said man turned back towards the Russian with a questioning glance. The ghost just looked at him with a smirk that said nothing but trouble. "Try to keep up." And with that, he was gone. Gilbert barely had time to comprehend the situation as he watched the spirit take off towards the park. He ran right through the solid figures standing in his way. 

"H-hey!" Gilbert called after him as he followed, dodging and weaving through the crowds of people passing by. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as he pushed through the people, ignoring the disgruntled 'hey's!' and 'watch were you're going's!'. The wind swept his snowy locks across his pale forehead as he pushed on. He was running at a full sprint now, chasing the ghost that seemed to tower above the assembly of people. He was closing in on the Russian who had just passed through the entry way of the park. With a burst of newfound energy, Gilbert broke through the last of the crowd and stumbled into the clearing. He rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath somewhere between his laughing and panting. 

"Y-you're crazy." He said, straightening up. Although he hated to admit it, he wasn't at his physical peak. 

"I've been called a lot of things in my life time, but crazy was never one of them." Ivan was leaning nonchalantly against a tree. His ghostly being seemed to glow with an aura of confidence as he watched the albino struggling to supply his lungs with oxygen. "Now what is it you wish to learn about me?" The Russian asked, remembering their somewhat awkward encounter in Gilbert's apartment. 

"Whatever you want to tell me," the German answers as he seated himself on a nearby park bench. Ivan sat next to him and leaned back against the wooden seat. Where should he start? He had to remind himself that he was currently speaking with the one responsible for his death. How much was he willing to share? 

"I guess I could start at the beginning." Ivan glanced at Gilbert, almost as if he was asking for approval to continue. He didn't know why it felt so natural for him to share everything with the German, but he didn't question it. He had never really been close with anyone other than his sisters. Maybe this was some absolutely insane second chance he was granted to make a friend. 

"My sisters and I moved here from Russia about ten years ago, right as I was entering high school." 

"What about your parents?" Gilbert interrupted. 

"They passed away when we were only children, I do not remember much of them. We stayed with our aunt and uncle until we were old enough to support ourselves."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the German wanted to change the subject. "What are your sisters like?" 

Ivan's whole face seemed to light up at the mention of his siblings. "Oh they're wonderful! My older sister, Katyusha, she's so smart. She graduated college last year and is pursuing a career in the agricultural field. She's really good with animals and I think she wants to become a veterinarian." He smiled as he thought of his sister's kind features. She had been the mother he never had. He began to reminisce all the joyful memories of the past. Just him and his sisters in a little house on the outskirts of the town. 

"My younger sister, Natalia," he started after a moment of silence. "She is quite the interesting one. She has this fascination with me that I can't really find the right words to explain. Nat always said she wanted to marry me. I think it's because when we were little, I was really the only one there for her. Kat was basically a mother to us, always busy cooking, cleaning, working. So in the early years, Natalia clung to me for security." Gilbert listened in patient silence, hanging on Ivan's every word. 

"She's very intelligent and athletically skilled." The ghost beamed with pride as he rambled on about his sister. "She does choose to take up the more, uh, peculiar sports." He said in a slightly strained tone. 

"Like what?" Gilbert asked, carmine eyes wide with wonder. 

"She enjoys toying with dangerous objects, so she's taken up javelin as a hobby. As terrifying as it is, she's got a spectacular throw." 

"Somehow," Gilbert said, looking away from Ivan. "A sketchy Russian girl hurling a giant stake for fun doesn't sound very safe." 

Ivan just offered him a dry laugh in return."I guess you could say that." The Russian's stomach began to knot uncomfortably as he thought of how lonely his sisters must be. His death had happened so abruptly, he didn't even see it coming. Had they identified his body yet? It hadn't even been a full day, did his sisters file a missing persons report? The sound of a vibrating cellphone broke the ghost's train of thought. He watched in silence as Gilbert fished his smartphone out of his back pocket. 

"Hello?" He answered. 

"Gilbert! Jesus I've been trying to call you all morning, what happened last night?" A slightly hungover Frenchmen snapped at him from the other line. 

"Oh...ya sorry. I forgot I left you guys at the bar. I'm fine though."

"Oh Dieu merci," the voice sighed in relief. "There was a terrible accident on the main road last night. It happened about the same time you left so Antonio and I were worried sick." 

Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. "An...accident?" 

"Oui, the driver was decapitated! Can you believe it?"

"....n-no I can't," The German felt his anxiety rise as Ivan practically stared him down whilst he was conversing on the phone. 

"Anyways, Arthur picked us up last night and he was just-"

"I gotta go." Gilbert quickly ended the phone call and stood from his spot at the bench. "Let's go." The albino wanted nothing more than to get home. Back to the safety of his solid apartment walls. Ivan joined him as he started at a brisk pace towards the street. 

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" The ghost teased. 

"Nothing." Gilbert answered a little too quickly. He still wasn't quite comfortable with the fact he was speaking to the man he had basically murdered. "It's just that people were looking at me funny. I mean I was sitting alone on a park bench talking to no one." 

Ivan chuckled, "I guess that is a bit strange."

"Plus the sun is setting," the German glanced at the sky. "As much as I love saying up late and partying, I still haven't completely recovered from last nights activities."

"Yes murder sure can take a toll on one." Ivan said a bit bitterly under his breath. 

The albino just scoffed. "Oh shut it."

"And why should I?"

"Because your dead. Therefore you have no say."

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't have a say, if anything you're the criminal so you don't have any say!"

"Um, freedom of speech! I thought you wanted to become a freaking lawyer, you should know this!"

"The laws of the constitution have absolutely no relevance to the situation!"

"This is America! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"You just countered your own argument, Gilbert. Are you for the sound structure of laws, or against them?" 

"Whichever one proves I'm right."

"What are you even trying to prove?"

"That ghosts have no rights."

"This is ridiculous. You can't tell a law abiding citizen that's he has no rights."

"Technically you're not a citizen anymore because your dead."

"Yes, murdered by the likes of you. So therefore the one guilty of an unjustifiable crime has the lesser rights." 

"Ugh, shut the fuck up! You're stupid smart talk is giving me a migraine."

"It's not my fault your minuscule intellectual capacity can't handle my knowledge."

"Ok now you're just doing this on purpose."

The two were so caught up in their bickering they hadn't noticed how quickly they had arrived at apartment 22B. 

"You know what?" Gilbert said as he unlocked the door, letting it hang ajar. "Fuck you." He quickly bolted inside and turned the lock. 

"Oh no. A closed door. My only weakness." Ivan said, sarcasm dripping off his every word. He sighed and stepped through the solid surface just in time to see Gilbert shut himself in his bedroom. He went to take a step towards the hallway when he was suddenly yanked back through the front door. A feeble yelp escaped his lips as he landed on his rump. He looked up to see Alfred standing above him in all his bloody glory. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The boy questioned him. 

"What do you mean?" A confused Ivan asked.

"What happened to scaring the shit out of this good for nothing bastard? Huh?" Alfred pulled the Russian to his feet before rubbing his temples through his wheat blond locks. "You're not supposed to get all buddy-buddy with the guy!" 

"He's not that bad..."

"Trust me dude, do not get attached." The other ghost turned away from Ivan. "It's not worth it."

"And what do you mean by that?" Ivan was beginning to get irritated by Alfred's innuendo. 

"I don't owe any explanation to you. Just get your goddamn revenge and move on." Alfred turned back to him before stretching his arm out. His infamous black scythe seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "I don't have time to deal with another mistake." Before Ivan could gain any answers to his questions, Alfred opened his portal and walked towards it. It disappeared as soon as he stepped through. 

The Russian ghost stared at the spot where Alfred had just stood. He was too mentally exhausted to deal with the boy's foolish antics. Where had he even been the whole time? He wasn't watching him and Gilbert was he? The American had given him a lecture about all the things he had to do before disappearing the first time. Now he acted as if he nothing better to do than supervise the Russian. 

Ivan briefly wondered if he should even go back into the Germans house. He looked to the sky and noticed the clouds begin to roll in. It was probably going to rain soon. Technically he couldn't feel cold or wet, but he would rather not stay outside for the night. He gave in and drifted through the door once again. Gilbert was no where in sight so he decided to settle down on the couch for the night. After making himself comfortable against the firm surface, he reached out to grab a pillow. He sighed in annoyance as his hand passed right through it. The ghost closed his eyes in defeat. Although his physical state no longer needed sleep, it was a nice change to be able to close his eyes and bask in the blissful silence that surrounded him. He would deal with Gilbert and Alfred in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well I can't really think of anything so say besides I'm sorry I suck at writing bickering. Also I love the idea of Natalia being a track and field athlete. Next chapter will hopefully be out soon. 
> 
> \- Caramel_Buns


	4. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well hello there, it's been a while. Schools been out a couple weeks but I suck at organizing my priorities so my writing kind of got pushed back a bit. But I'm here now with a new updated that you guys will hopefully enjoy! Apologies in advance for spelling/grammar errors, just reminding you I am typing this on my phone and I tend to miss small mistakes when revising.
> 
> ***Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters (besides Carter)
> 
> ***Warnings: Language, Blood, Gore, Spirits, Ghosts, Decapitation, Severed Limbs, Tears, Fluff

Chapter 4

_SLAM_

The sound of the front door being thrown open woke Ivan from his illusion of slumber. The disruption was followed by the door being shut just as loudly as it was opened.

Sitting up on the couch, the ghost groggily peered over the backboard to see a fairly large man stumble inside. He was shorter than Ivan himself, but a bit stalkier. He had an almost empty beer bottle lazily dangling from his hand. The Russian was never much of a people person but the sight of this man in particular made him uneasy.

"Gilbert!" The man slurred, swinging his head this way and that as if the albino would appear in front of him. The door to the German's room creaked open as said man sauntered out.

"Jesus Carter, it's like one in the morning..." Gilbert said sleepily as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up.

"Hey babe," the man said as he leaned in to kiss Gilbert on the cheek. The German skillfully dodged the attempt at affection and backed towards the couch.

"I'm not your fucking babe." He said in a tone of slight disgust.

Carter just sighed, setting his bottle of the kitchen counter. "You'll come around one day," he paused, staring at the alcoholic beverage as if he were in a trance. "They always do."

The albino visually shuddered as he turned around. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the Russian ghost sitting attentively on the couch. Ivan offered a small wave and a sheepish look in response to Gilbert's confused expression.

Carters's voice sounded from behind him. "You know Gilbie," ugh he  _hated_  that nickname. "I'm a very powerful man, it's only fitting I have someone as beautiful as you on my hip. And a guy like me can get you what you want when you want it." The German tuned him out, he had heard this speech what felt like a million times. There was no way in hell he would ever be Carters's 'babe'. Instead, Gilbert turned his attention to frantically motioning for Ivan to move his freaking butt. It would be bad if Carter were to somehow see him.

The spirit watched in slight amusement as the German swung his arms in odd patterns, almost as if he were trying to motion him to do something.

"I don't understand...?" Ivan said, baffled at the strange movements. The albino pressed his index finger to his lips in a 'hush' motion. Giving in with a disgruntled sigh, he grabbed the ghost by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. Carters's monologues still going strong.

"Ya that's great Carter but it's never gonna happen."

"C'mon babe," the German quickly dashed into his room, pulling Ivan with him. Slamming the door shut in Carter's face he locked it for good measure. A few strong knocks disrupted the once peaceful silence.

"You can't hide in there forever Gilbie." And then he was gone.

"Gott, he's such a fucking creep!" Gilbert sighed as he flopped face first onto his bed.

"Who even is that guy?" Ivan asked still dazed from the awkward interaction. He had suspected it was a boyfriend at first, but after the exchange he ruled that option out.

"Roommate." The German answered flatly. "I'm normally not such a push over around him, but I don't trust that guy when he's drunk."

"I see," Ivan figured he shouldn't push on the subject. It already seemed to make the albino uncomfortable.

"Great now I'm probably not going to be able to fall back asleep knowing that perv is in the other room." The albino said in a low voice as he tried to get comfortable under the covers.

Ivan took a seat in a chair across the room. "Why don't you tell me about yourself then." The ghost said in a hopeful tone.

"Huh?" Gilbert asked, peeking out from under the mass of blankets.

"Well I basically shared my life story with you, it's only fair you do the same." The Russian suddenly became nervous, figuring he was pushing the others limits. Then he remembered that this man was also responsible for his death and the feelings of guilt melted away. "C'mon, you killed me. I sort of have a right to know."

"That last part was a bit unnecessary but whatever." Gilbert flipped to face the spirit and gathered his courage before speaking. "Well like you, I'm not from America. I grew up in a pretty wealthy home in Germany. My parents were both successful business owners and a life of luxury was something I was raised in. Eventually they passed and their inheritance was left to me and my younger brother." Ivan listened, watching the way Gilbert's face saddened slightly at the mention of his sibling. "I moved here a couple years ago and I've basically been dependent on the money from my folks. But like all good things in life, it's come to an end and I'm running low. So I put out an add for a roommate to split the cost of rent with. Carter was the first one to apply so I accepted him out of compete laziness." The German curled into a ball, clutching the sheets close before continuing. "It's no where near as interesting as your life. I don't even have a job nor a college degree. I bet I sound pretty pathetic, huh?" He let out a a dry laugh.

"I don't think you are pathetic Gilbert." Ivan answered. "I just think you have yet to find your purpose in life. You still have many years to go." He paused, looking down at his severed fingers. "Just make sure you live every moment from now on to its fullest, you never know when your time will come."

Gilbert felt the immense guilt from before overcome him again. He had ended this man's life when he was so close to achieving his goals. The German had almost nothing going for him. It should have been him instead. He should have been the one to die, no body would have miss him.

"What's it like," Gilbert asked. "To be dead?"

Ivan paused for a moment, thinking of how he could possible explain the sensation of death. "It's certainly, uh, different." He started. "My whole body just feels light. I almost feel like I'm in a trance. It's like I'm traveling through fog and I can't seem to find my way out. I can only touch certain things from the living world. I have to really concentrate my strength to do much else." Gilbert was listening so intently that he couldn't take his eyes off the ghost. He wondered how brightly those violet eyes shone when he was alive. How soft was his beige-blonde hair? This man seemed to be compassionate, intelligent, and witty. Gilbert wished he had gotten to meet Ivan before his demise.

"I can't really feel much of anything," the ghost continued. "I don't feel pain, it's more of a slight pressure. I can, however, feel how uncomfortable this stupid chair is." He complained, shifting in the seat that was way too small for his body.

"Then why don't you lay here," Gilbert said as motioned to the spot next to him on his bed.

"Are you serious?" Ivan asked, not believing the German.

"Sure, why not? This bed's way too big for me anyway. Besides, you're a ghost, it's not like you'll try anything funny." At least he hoped.

Ivan stood and hesitantly walked towards the edge of the bed. He reached down to grab the covers. Too his surprise, he was able to grip the edge of the sheets between his finger and thumb.

"Oh? Oh!" He exclaimed. "Oh my god, Gilbert, look! I can touch them!" Gilbert didn't really understand what was happening but he went along with it anyway. "This is great, I couldn't touch the pillow on the couch before." He pulled the blankets away from the German who protested weakly. Jumping onto the bed, he rolled to the other side, cocooning himself in the sheets. He flipped over and ran right into the albino so they were face to face.

"Are you done?" Gilbert asked flatly.

"Sorry, I just got excited..." He tried I untangled himself from the sheets but was struggling a bit.

"Jesus, let me help you." The German reached over and began to tug at the sheets. It was a more difficult task than he expected. "What the hell did you do to these?" He griped, pulling at the last of the tangled sheets. With a grunt, he wrenched the blankets back, freeing the ghost. Unfortunately, he lost his balance and tumbled backwards, off of the bed and towards the floor. He braced himself for an impact that never came. He looked up to see Ivan's upper body barely hanging over the edge of the bed. His arms were secured around Gilbert's waist, preventing him from hitting the ground.

"Got you," Ivan said cheerily, before pulling him back onto the bed.

"Ya, thanks." Gilbert could still feel this ghost's cold arms around his midsection. It was strange, the touch was cold at first, but then it got warmer and warmer until a pleasant heat began to spread throughout the German's body. He was actually disappointed when Ivan withdrew his arms.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, laying down on the bed.

"Nah man, you actually saved me." Gilbert said, joining him. He threw the blankets over both of them and sighed. Ivan had saved him. And that was something Gilbert couldn't do for him.

A breeze drifter under the closed door, making the German shudder. His apartment always tended to run colder at night. He looked to Ivan to see the ghost's eyes closed, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and shimmed closer to the ghost. Pressing his body against the transparent one beside him, he shudder at the cold contact. After a moment, he let out a content sigh as his body became graciously warm. Snuggling closer to the Russian he looked up to see if he had disturbed him. He mentally screamed as he peered up to see wide violet eyes staring down at him.

"Sorry, I- um," he stuttered trying to organize his thoughts. "I'm cold!" He whisper-yelled, careful so he wouldn't wake Carter. "You're really warm for a ghost."

Ivan chucked, "you could have just said so." Turning into his side he embraced the albino, pulling him close." He wouldn't tell Gilbert, but when he was this close to him he could almost feel warm as well. It was like the fog clouding his vision had begun to thin. Besides, this was a sure way to get Alfred's attention. "You're warm for a killer." He added.

Gilbert just scoffed and pulled the covers further over them. "Whatever."

Yes cuddling in the afterlife was nice, but his true intentions were to get Alfred to show up. He had no way of contacting the other spirit and there was something important he had to take care of. Going directly against the other spirits wishes was a guaranteed way to get him to show up.

* * *

Time seemed to drift on for what felt like centuries. Ivan laid on his back, arm gently secured around Gilbert's waist. The albinos head was resting on his chest and he could tell by the soft breathing he had finally been lulled to sleep. He almost didn't want to leave the German, but he had to talk with Alfred. Carefully, he unwound his arm from Gilbert's middle. Sliding out from under him, he pulled a pillow from the other side of the bed and placed it under his head. The albino shifted slightly in his sleep before burrowing deeper into the blankets. Ivan just stood there for a moment to admire the living boy's countenance. His features held the angular shapes of a typical German face structure. His nose was small but a bit crooked, leading the ghost to wonder if it had been broken before. His skin was nearly flawless save for what looked to be a few small scars. What kind of past did this man have that led him through such physical times? His hair was white like freshly fallen snow. He couldn't get over the pale color. Never had he seen someone with such a unique natural hair color. It captivated him as he ran the pads of his dislocated fingers along the strands that fell across his forehead.

"Oh god, enough is enough!" Ivan's head snapped up at the sound of the familiar echoing voice. "Seriously, I might vomit." Alfred said in disgust.

"Ah, perfect timing my friend," The Russian said cheerily. "Let us take this outside, yes?"

"Whatever you say dude." The Collector of Souls turned and drifted through the wall he had just been leaning against. Ivan followed, finding himself on the balcony that wrapped around the upper floors of the apartment complex.

Alfred pressed an accusing finger into the Russian's chest. "Seriously bro, what the hell did I say about getting attached?"

"Ya sure," Ivan dodged the question for he could care less about the other spirit's lectures. "I need your help with something."

"What." He asked flatly.

"I need to go visit someone, but they live too far away for me to just walk. Do you think I could use one of your portals?" Ivan asked hopefully.

"It depends, who do you need to see?" Alfred questioned, still upset the Russian had ignored his warning.

"My sisters."

* * *

Katyusha and Natalia Braginsky sat in silence in their small home on the outskirts of town. Silence save for the soft cries of sadness as they tried to control what seemed to be a sempiternal flow of tears. Ivan's body had just been identified. The sisters were seated on the couch, embracing each other tightly.

"Shhh, Natalia," Katyusha cooed. She was trying to be strong for her younger sister, even though her own voice was shaking with sorrow. "H-He's in a better place now, sweetheart." No matter how many times she had repeated these words, she could not bring herself to believe them.

Ivan stood outside of his old home. He had to mentally prepare himself before coasting through the wooden front door. He was greeted by the sight of his sisters grieving on their old worn-down couch. His heart broke at the afterimage of their bloodshot eyes and tear stained faces. They didn't deserve another loss. They didn't have the mental strength to deal with another death. He drifted closer wanting nothing more than to reach out and embrace them. He wondered if they would be able to see him like Gilbert could. He was now standing beside the couch at a loss of what to do when suddenly, Natalia ceased her shaking.

"Kat," she rasped, her voice shot from crying. "He's here."

Ivan's breath caught in his throat.

"Oh, Nat," their older sister said quietly, running her fingers through Natalia's silvery hair. "I'm know it seems like that but he's gone now."

"No." She said stubbornly. Sitting up, her pale blue eyes scanned the room for some sort of sigh. "I know he's here, I can feel it."

Ivan's heart sunk to his chest as his sister looked right past him. Why couldn't they see him? "Please Nat," he said softly. "I'm right here."

"Natalia, this isn't the time." A fresh steam of tears began to flow from his eldest sister's eyes. He could tell she was getting upset.

"No, you don't understand!" Natalia stood from her spot on the couch, Katyusha followed.

"No, Nat,  _you_  don't understand!" His sister was yelling now. Her usual soft voice and kind features were disrupted by the emotional trauma that had ripped his family apart. "He's gone!" She grabbed her sister by the wrist to prove her point. "Ivan's dead and he's never coming back!"

They were both crying now and the Russian male couldn't bare to see his siblings like this any longer. He reached out and placed a hand on each of their backs, surprised when they made contact instead of passing through the solid surface. Katyusha and Natalia both froze and gazed wide eyed at each other. The couldn't see him, but they both new he was there. Katyusha regained control of her breather and gently embarrassed her sister. Ivan tightened his grip around his siblings and let his own tears fall freely.

They stayed like that for a while. Savoring the last moments they would ever feel their brother's presence. Ivan didn't know why, but he was beginning to get a bit dizzy. His vision was starting to blur in and out of focus and he was having a difficult time catching his breath. Without warning, his hands slipped trough the solid surface of his sisters as he lost his balance. Landing on his hands and knees, the ghost erupted into an ephemeral coughing fit. Although short, the violent hacks ripped through his throat, causing the first feeling of affliction since his demise. Once he recovered, the spirit shakily stood to his feet, watching as his sisters regained their breath.

It was Natalia that spoke first. "We should have the funeral this Sunday." She said softly. "It was always his favorite day." Ivan smiled, it was true. He loved Sunday's mostly because it had the word 'Sun' in the title. Plus he was off of both school and work and usually had the day to just relax.

Kat just nodded in agreement and wiped a stray tear from her younger sisters face. "I think that's a great idea."

Ivan felt a hand firmly grip his shoulder before abruptly pulling him through the nearest wall. The ghost struggled to catch his breath as Alfred pulled him away from his family.

"You need to get out of here now." The spirit said sternly. The outburst was very extrinsic in comparison to the American's usual carefree nature.

"I don't understand-"

"You're going to get very sick if you stay here. Like I said before, it's very unlikely, but so far you are the most unusual case I've had to work with." Alfred dragged him away from the house before calling upon his scythe.

"Alfred, please explain." Ivan begged.

"If you're too far away from Gilbert, your symptoms are going to get worse."

"Why is this happening, Alfred? I don't get it!" The Russian was starting to become upset.

"I don't get it either!" The boy yelled back before opening one of his accustomed blue portals. "But I don't have the time to try and understand it." And with that he shoved the decapitated ghost through and disappeared in the icy azure haze.

* * *

Gilbert's eyes lazily fluttered open. He was met with mid-morning sunlight illuminating his bedroom. He buried his face deeper into the pillow he was cuddling. Wait. His carmine eyes shot open to find Ivan's ghost no where in sight. Groaning, he sat up and stretched. Rolling out of bed, he stumbled to the kitchen to brew a fresh cup of coffee.

"Oh my god." He said to himself, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I was just stood up by a ghost."

"Shit!" A loud cry erupted from behind him. He turned to see Ivan appear seemingly out of nowhere. He hit the floor with an audible thud and rolled on to his side. Taking his time to stand, the ghost spun towards where he had just came and clenched his fists in anger. "Well fuck you too, Alfred!"

"Alfred...?" Gilbert repeated to himself. Ivan whipped around to face him.

"Oh Gilbert! I didn't think you'd be up by now." The ghost said, playing with the hem of his bloodstained jacket.

"It's almost noon, man." The German scoffed. "Where were you?"

"I-" what was he supposed to say in this situation?" I, uh, went to see my sisters." He said, avoiding Gilbert's burning gaze.

The albino immediately let his guard down. He had been upset that Ivan had left him, even a bit sad. He thought that the ghost was going to be gone forever, right when it felt like and friendship was forming. But after hearing where the spirit really had gone, he could only sympathize with him.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "How did it go?"

Ivan took the seat next to Gilbert at the table, thankful that Carter had already left for work. "They couldn't see me." He kept his eyes on his hands which rested lightly on the wooden surface. "But they could sense me, I was even able to touch them for a moment." He remembered his violent coughing fit. He had already started to feel much better, even after being beside Gilbert for just a short amount of time.

"That's good," Gilbert said. He wondered what would happen if he or Ludwig were to die. How would the other react? What would it be like to watch his brother cry over his dead body and not be able to reach out to him at all? "I'm glad you got some closure."

"Hey, Gilbert?" Ivan asked shyly.

"Yes?"

"My funeral is this Sunday. Do, uh, do you think we could maybe...go?" Gilbert could tell Ivan was struggling to say the words. The German couldn't even imagine what it would be like to attend your own funeral. To see your own body laying in the open casket. To see your family and friends mourning your death whilst you were standing right beside them. But at the same time, it might give the ghost a sense of resolution. He had already taken so much away from the Russian, he couldn't afford to take that away from him as well.

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have so much planned for this fic you guys have no idea
> 
> \- Caramel-Buns


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: [ Name change from Caramel-Buns to carnagekiid. ] Well hey there guys, long time no see. As I promised I am back. I've had a really stressful time with school and family life. Recently my Instagrams and tumblr accounts were deleted, twice. I have made a new tumblr (link in bio) but nothing is on it currently. When I get a new computer I will update it. Thanks for understanding and I'm almost done with the next chapter of From Bully to Boyfriend. Apologies in advance for grammar/spelling errors, please enjoy!
> 
> ***Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters
> 
> ***Warnings: Language, Major Character Death, Blood, War, Gunshot Wounds, Decapitation, Gore, Tears, Angst, Fluff, Yaoi, Mentions of Suicide, Weapons

Chapter 5

The year was 1942. The date, October 24th. The battle had been raging on for nearly a full twenty four hours. It was as if the Japanese armed forces just kept coming and coming. The more men they deployed, the more bodies piled upon the shore.

Alfred F. Jones, nineteen years old, U.S. Army. The boy flinched as a loud explosion echoed across the battlefield. He lifted his crystal gaze just in time to see an Air Force plane spiral towards the sea, leaving a thick trial of smoke and flames in its wake. A cry sounded from behind him and he turned to see one of his comrades fall to his knees, swaying before finally crashing to the earth. A steady flow of blood pooling from his abdomen.

Alfred looked away, gritting his teeth as unshed tears threatening to leak past his waterline. He needed to focus on the task at hand. The blonde peeked over the barrier he was stationed behind, eyeing a Japanese soldier as he raised his gun, aiming for another American. His actions, however, were cut short as a bullet from Alfred's gun found the man's temple. It was clean shot, nearly perfect precision. The foreigners death was quick and painless. Still, it didn't help to comfort the fact that he had just taken another human being's life. Alfred sunk behind the barricade once more, trying to steady his breathing.

This wasn't what he expected the war to be like. He hated this. He hated killing people. But he also loved his country and didn't want it to fall under the rule of Adolf Hitler. But what more did he expect? Of course the battles weren't going to be all fine and dandy. Nobody would walk away without suffering injuries or casualties. In truth, he was just a naive boy looking for some type of adventure. Well, he sure as hell got an adrenaline rush in the line of battle, but it wasn't the thrill he was looking for. What good was victory knowing that either way someone had to pay a horrible price in the end?

He silently cursed his ability. He had one of the best shots out of the entire U.S. Army. He was athletic, agile, and fast. He was strong too and had a good eye. Practically the perfect soldier. That's why he was chosen to be on the front lines. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save the lives of the innocent, protect those who couldn't protect themselves. He didn't want to be the one to destroy this precious concept known as life. It was tearing him apart.

They only good thing that's come out of this goddamn war was Matthew. Alfred didn't know how the sweet Canadian had gotten mixed up in this mess in the first place. The poor guy had been drafted into the Army and had to serve against his will. They were both so young. Him and Matthew alike, so they were almost drawn to each other. Alfred knew he could be a bit rambunctious at times, but the other never seemed to mind. In fact he found the American's antics to be amusing. The training camps were such bleak and lifeless facilities, Alfred helped to give their situations those rare bright moments that Matthew needed to badly. Matt was taller, but wasn't as physically fit as the other blonde. After all he aspired to be an artist like his mother, not a soldier. Alfred was always there to give him a helping hand. In no way was Mathew weak, he just didn't pick things up as fast as Alfred did. There were even timed when Matt was the one to save Al's ass. Whether it be helping him over the last wall they had to climb, or sharing his rations, he was always there for the other. That's just how they worked.

Overtime, Alfred's feeling grew to more than just friendship. Of course he never acted on these newfound emotions. He didn't want to scare Matthew away, or ruin the relationship he had worked so hard to build. Hell, he didn't even know if the other was interested in men. Even if he was, homosexuality was something that was frowned upon in this day and age. As sad as it was, it could get them kicked out of the military and shunned by their own friends and family. It was best for Al to keep his feelings to himself.

It was battles like this that had the American worried sick. Matthew was placed somewhere in midst of the troops. Al had no means of finding him until the heat of battle had calmed. His blue eyes frantically scanned the crowd of soldiers. He tried to avoid the more gruesome sights, but had to make sure Matt wasn't one of the victims. He was just glad he wasn't part of the cleanup crew. Their job was to burn and bury the mass amount of corpses. He had heard tales of the disgusting men amongst them. The ones that cut off the fingers of the deceased in order to obtain silver and gold rings. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn't want heartless men like that to represent the country he so respected.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he spotted light blond hair out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough it was Matthew. The American pushed himself from his hideout, running into the open in order to get to his friend. It was stupid, but Alfred had always been impulsive. Especially when his sharp vision picked up the sight of an enemy soldier taking aim at the other male.

"Matt!" His voice rang clear. Lilac eyes shifted to him, wide with fear and shock. Alfred reached out to the taller male, grabbing him by the arm. In one swift movement, he pushed Mathew behind him and against the barricade. A sudden sharp pain shot through his chest as he stumbled over an abandoned gun. He landed at Matthews feet and crawled the last few inches behind the barrier. He looked up to see...tears?

Why was Matthew crying?

He opened his mouth in hopes of asking, but nothing came out except for saliva and blood. He coughed up the crimson liquid as his arms gave out. His face hit the dirt and everything went oddly quiet. There was this ringing in his ears and he could hear what seemed to be muffled cries and shouts from a distance. His vision became blurry as it was obscured by blonde curls and light purple orbs. Matthew applied pressure to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding from the gaping wound. There was no end to the supply of blood from where Alfred had been shot.

He had been shot? When? How? The American didn't have time to think of that as a flurry of emotions whisked through his mind in a matter of nanoseconds. He literally saw his life flash before his eyes. He was with his dad. It was just him and the old war veteran. His father was the one who inspired him to join the army in the first place. He had warned Alfred of the dangers but allowed him to follow his calling. Then he was at school, complaining about the too-tight uniforms. Next was track, he had won first place in the hundred meter dash. His dad had been so proud. There was the draft. The first time he had seen those bright lilac eyes, laced with innocence and wonder. They shared a bunk, trained together, ate together. God Alfred was so in love with the male above him. He couldn't bare to see him cry. It was all the more painful when those salty tears dripped onto his face and mixed with his own. He could feel his strength fading, his heart slowing. Gently, he reached up with trembling hands and pulled Matthew's face towards him. The other male was hysterical and Alfred tried to smile to calm him down. It only seems to make him more upset when he saw the pearly white teeth now stained with blood and dirt.

"Matty..." Alfred cooed, his voice only a whisper. "I- I love-" his voice was cut off by a pair of soft lips pressing against his own. Using the last of his strength, he pushed his whole self into the kiss and gripped Matthew's hair with shaking hands. He could still feel tears cascading down the other's checks, landing on his. He could feel the soft lips moving against his own, and quivering, blood stained hands gripping the sides of his face. It was the last thing he remembered before everything faded to black.

* * *

It felt like he was drowning. Azure hues creaked opened only to snap shut again. He was surrounded by a blinding blue light that seemed to encircle his entire existence. It wasn't painful. In fact, it didn't feel like anything at all. There was a faint sensation of floating, but that was it. He slowly peeked open and let his eyes adjust to the brightness. He ran slender fingers against the light, watching as it sifted through the digits like sand as it rushed around him. Slowly, the light faded until he was surrounded by nothing but darkness. He was too shocked to speak so he settled for frantically looking each and every way, hoping to catch a sign of some sort of life in the abyss.

"Alfred." A firm, yet gently voice spoke. The American jolted as a figure suddenly manifested in front of him. A man appeared before him, dressed in elegant silk robes that looked far too large for his small body. He had long chestnut hair, tied into a ponytail that rested on his left shoulder.

"Wh-who are you?" Alfred asked, still in shock from the whole ordeal. He slowly drifted to the ground before his feet made contact with what he presumed to be solid land.

"I am Yao Wang, the collector of souls." The spirit spoke, stepping towards him. He seemed to glow in the darkness as his amber eyes trailed the American's every movement.

"Am I dead?" The soldier asked, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

"I guess you could say that." The man answered, his voice echoing in the very depths of Alfred's mind. Yao tapped his chest, above his heart and the blonde instinctually looked to his own torso. What he saw made him fall silent. There was a gaping wound, right over his heart. It had a sort of ghostly glow and a crimson liquid resembling blood pooled out before evaporating into thin air.

"Ok what the hell is going on?" Alfred questioned, becoming angry that he couldn't understand what was happening.

"You have been chosen for the next position as reaper. You will continue on where I have left off."

"What?!" The American exclaimed, stumbling backward. "I don't want to be the collector of souls, grim reaper, whatever the hell it is."

"Sorry to disappoint you but the decision is final," Yao suddenly pulled a long, nasty looking sword from his robes. It glowed with the same soft amber that surrounded the man himself. Alfred recognized the weapon as a dadao, an ancient Chinese sword. The literal translation was something along the lines of 'big knife'. Researching weaponry had been one of his favorite past times before the war, he used to spend hours upon hours in the library, studying the books and pictures on the deadly devices. His train of thought was interrupted by the blade speeding towards his face. It stopped no less than and inch from the center of his glasses. "If you object, I will have to use force."

"Why me?" Alfred questioned.

"Although you were not my first choice, the pros overshadowed the cons. Bravery, perseverance, the willingness to risk your own life for another," the blade moved down to poke at his wound. However there was no pain, only slight discomfort. "A heart of gold." The man finished.

Alfred decided he'd had enough and pushed the blade away with his bare hands. "And what is my job as the collector of souls?"

"Reapers like us are meant to help guide stray souls."

"Modern day English, please." Alfred commanded, fed up with the poetic metaphors.

"To break it down to more understandable terms," the Chinese man said as he returned the blade to his robes. Alfred watched in aw as it seemed to disappear in a flash of amber lift. "We help restless souls move on. For instant, we mostly work with abrupt deaths, people who have unfinished business in the mortal realm. Weather it be revenge, final goodbyes, confessions, we help them achieve it so they can move on to the afterlife."

"What if their intentions are evil?" Alfred asked. "Do we still help them if their goal is to kill or something?"

"That is not our place to judge." The reaper responded. "We are not the highest level of authority so we are in no place to question our duty. The soul will go through judgment after they pass on. It does no good for anyone to be stuck in limbo, even if they desire to do horrible things." Yao paused, waiting for the boy to absorb the foreign information. "Remember Alfred," his voice faded as did his figure. The soldier watched as the man slowly disappeared into the darkness. "Everything happens for a reason."

* * *

Alfred sat in the open graveyard, wondering what type of stories each tombstone held. He had only been to one funeral in his life. His mom's. But he doesn't remember that now, she passed away when he was only a boy.

Slowly, he stood, trudging onwards. It felt as if his feet were weighed down by the newfound responsibility as he walked down the stone path. Eventually he stopped. In front of him were rows of endless white headstones. They represented deceased soldiers. Alfred would soon be one of them. Just another faceless name, inscribed in a sea of white. It was only a matter of time before his friends, family, and fellow soldiers completely forgot about him.

He watched, the scene surreal and silent, as a chariot passed by at a steady pace. It was led by two ash white horses and followed by a line of soldiers in uniform. His azure orbs landed on the sight of a grand oak coffin, blanketed by the American flag. His body was in there, still clad in uniform and signature bomber jacket. The coat had belonged to his father, a keepsake of some sort to make him feel safe when away from home. Alfred watched as the funeral attendees surrounded the coffin. His father was holding his hat tightly to his chest, silent tears streaming down his aged face. A few of his friends hung their heads in sorrow. And Matty. Oh Matt. He had his hand tightly clamped over his mouth, trying in vain to stop the pitiful sobs from escaping his lips. Alfred wanted nothing more than to embrace the man and kiss his tears away. The scene was too much, he had to look away.

A warm hand placed itself firmly on his shoulder. The reaper spun to see Yao standing tall behind him. "This...is the most difficult part." The older man confessed.

"How did you die?" Alfred asked before he could stop himself. He regretted the question immediately when he saw the flash of pain in the Chinese man's amber eyes.

Yao took a shaky breath before speaking. "I was assassinated, but it was written off as suicide."

"Suicide?" Alfred questioned. Yao was silent, thinking to himself for a moment. He seemed to come to a decision and swiftly pulled the oversized sleeves of his robes back. The young reaper fell silent at the reveal of porcelain skin marked with macabre slits across the wrists. A crimson liquid, similar to the one surrounding his bullet wound, leaked from the cuts.

"Who killed you, a-and why?" Alfred asked, astonished as Yao pulled the silk sleeves back down.

"I was next in line for the throne, my cousin didn't think I was fit for the position. He was power hungry and driven by the promise of endless riches and privilege." The older man returned his gaze to the funeral. "They forged my suicide note, saying that I couldn't handle the pressure of becoming emperor. I didn't even see them coming, I barely put up a fight." Even after all these years, it was still difficult for Yao to speak of his death.

"Why were you chosen?" The soldier asked, watching as one of his colleagues began to play the traditional melody of Taps on a lone bugler.

"For my wisdom and quick decision making." Alfred looked down at himself. His uniform had been replaced with solid black clothing, the only familiar thing that remained was his bomber jacket. It was longer, almost like a cloak. The ends were torn and seemed to almost fade to nothingness. The American wasn't one to usually care about his appearance, but he had to admit the getup seemed pretty bad ass. But that didn't stop himself from thinking of how different he and Yao were.

"We are nothing alike," the boy said. "Why were we both chosen?"

Yao pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "Each collector of souls is special in their own way. Different time periods call for different reapers. I can't tell you for sure why either of us were chosen, but a reason if waiting down the line for you." He paused, watching as the soldiers began to fold the American flag. "As for me, I finally get to move on to the afterlife." Yao disappeared, leaving the new reaper to listen to the last grisly details of his death.

Alfred. F Jones, nineteen, U.S Army. Killed in the line of fire in The Battle for Henderson Field. Eighty-six total casualties.

* * *

Here he was. Another graveyard, another funeral. This time, however, it wasn't his own. Or for anyone he knew very well either. Alfred sat on the corner of one of the large building, overshadowing the small, nearly forgotten cemetery. There were also a lot less people at this memorial. The reaper recognized two girls, Ivan's sister. But the rest he didn't know. There were a couple classmates, a few professors, no other family. It was sad really, the Russian must have been a pretty lonely guy. He seemed nice enough, but good manners never got anyone that far in life.

"Well, what do you we have here?" Alfred asked himself. He observed a pale figure, dressed in all black and holding a bouquet of sunflowers approaching the scene. And there just happened to be a decapitated ghost trailing behind him. The man, Gilbert, the reaper recognized, turned to encourage the Russian onwards. Ivan nodded shyly and continued down the path towards his grave. Alfred realized that the graveyard was quite a ways away from Gilbert's apartment. Considering his current condition, Ivan certainly wouldn't have been able to make the walk or stay standing on both feet on his own. The German must have either suggested they go or granted Ivan's wish to attend his own funeral. Maybe the other ghost was right, the albino wasn't that bad of a guy.

* * *

Gilbert slowly made his way down the path, passing by the older tombstones which had been carefully tended to by the groundskeeper. He had to admire the polished state of each grave, no matter how old, they all looked relatively neat.

"C'mon Van, we're almost there." _Van, really Gilbert? You're giving the ghost sent to haunt you a fucking pet name?_ He gripped the bouquet of sunflowers he was holding harder.

"I-I might be having second thoughts," Ivan said sheepishly as they edged closer to the scene.

"Aw, seriously man? I nearly drove a fucking hour, don't wuss out now!" Gilbert spat angrily. He figured now wasn't the time to be an ass considering the guy was literally sitting in at his own memorial. "It'll be alright, I promise." He said a bit softer. "I'll be right next to you the whole time and we can leave whenever you want." He slowed a bit more, waiting for the ghost to catch up with him.

"Thank you Gilbert," Ivan said, as he inched closer to the German.

It wasn't long before they were standing amongst a small group of mourners. There were only about eight people in attendance. How sad. Gilbert kept his head low as he worked his way to the front of the crowd. He approached what looked to be a small shrine of some sort. A large urn sat on the table, it must of held Ivan's ashes. After all the body had been much too mangled for an open casket funeral. There were a few framed pictures of Ivan. One from high school graduation, or at least that's what Gilbert assumed based off the cap and gown on the younger looking Russian. His hair was a bit longer than now, more messy, and the German couldn't look past the acne. But hey, he had it in high school as well, he was in no position to judge. It was actually kind of cute. Gilbert moved on to the next picture, Ivan was smiling in this one, a wide open mouthed grin and violet eyes screwed shut with joy as he hugged two smaller women. The albino presumed they were his sisters considering the similar face shape and hair color.

A hand suddenly touched him on the shoulder, startling him slightly. "Did you know him well?" An accented voice asked from behind him. "Sunflowers were his favorite." He gripped he flowers close and turned to see one of the women from the photo. She was short and slightly pudgy. Kind of cute though with her round face and wide eyes, even when red and puffy from tears.

"Um- I- no." Gilbert answered. "I had a few classes with him." He quickly fabricated the lie. He looked past the squat woman to see the other girl from the picture. She was tall and thin with a resting bitch face. "You are Katyusha, correct?" He asked the friendlier looking woman, remembering the Russian's stories.

"Yes I am, and that is Natalia." She glanced over her shoulder, fiddling with the hem of her black skirt. A nervous habit that ran in the family. "I'm sorry, she is very upset at the moment."

"I understand," Gilbert replied. "If you'll excuse me." He nodded his head in respect and backed away. He couldn't face Ivan's grieving sisters. Now after what he had done. He returned his attention to the shrine, admiring the Russian's face once again. He looked so happy in all of the pictures, so alive. Gilbert glanced over his shoulder, spotting Ivan loitering by a tree, trying to work up the courage to come closer. He looked so much paler than in the photos, maybe the fact that he was nearly transparent contributed. His cheeks were hallowed out, his eyes sunken in with dark bags underneath. And not to mention the severed head that continued to drip a never ending flow of blood. One would barely recognize him in death. The German locked eyes with the ghost, nodding his head in an attempt to get the Russian to follow him. Eventually the spirit gave in and joined him near the shrine. He wouldn't look at it. Gilbert reached out, taking Ivan's hand in his own. The poor guy was trembling. Slowly, he pulled him forwards. They arrived in front of the Russian's tombstone, still hand in hand. Gilbert knelt, pulling the ghost with him as he gently laid the sunflowers on the grave. He looked up, Ivan was fighting back tears.

"Maybe we should go." He suggested. The entity nodded, standing. Gilbert bid one last goodbye to the Russian's sisters and quickly left.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Gilbert asked lightly, still holding tightly to the other male's hand. No response. Oh well. Knowing that he had been with the ghost the whole time in case he needed him was enough to ease the German's mind. At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wasn't that lovely? Alas, we finally get to see Alfred's backstory and the different transitions in his life as reaper. As I said before I'm almost done with the next chapter of From Bully to Boyfriend. Sorry for the feels guys but it seems I'm incapable of writing anything happy. Hopefully the next chapter will be out soon!
> 
> \- carnagekiid

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: AH I love Alfred's character, He's so fun to write! Anyway, I did a lot of research on decapitation and car crashes to make it as realistic as possible while still keeping certain attributes I needed (like Gilbert not having any evidence against him). But if something seems inaccurate, please tell me! Thanks for reading and please leave a review if you have time!
> 
> \- Caramel_Buns


End file.
